


Time And Time Again

by thecattydddy



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-22
Updated: 2015-09-22
Packaged: 2018-04-22 21:56:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,194
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4851902
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thecattydddy/pseuds/thecattydddy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Sam and Dean say yes, they leave a couple of angels behind that would rather not see the world end. In one last ditch attempt to save it, Gabriel sends him and Castiel back in time to take on a cover as a couple of pagans and rewrite history. Sam gets himself sold for a gun and Dean might be developing a crush before John's parenting can take hold of him completely. It's just another Tuesday for the Winchesters.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Pilot

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [A Bartered Soul](https://archiveofourown.org/works/724000) by [YukiRiikus_Reading_Room](https://archiveofourown.org/users/YukiRiikus_Reading_Room/pseuds/YukiRiikus_Reading_Room). 



The one good things about angels, Gabriel decided, is that they're all a bunch of vain sons of bitches – Especially the one's in management. Really, they had the strongest weapons at their disposal, yet they refused to use them because of a fate or a destiny. There was also the slight difficulty where they all wanted to have this happen, but Gabriel really had other plans.

Seeing his own brother turn on him, well that sure had hurt a lot. Not just in the physical sense, though the art of faking an archangel's death was a pretty strenuous one and he'd nearly died in the process alone, but it hit him right in the feels, so to speak. Lucifer might have been a great big bag of dicks, but he was still supposed to be family.

And then, to make matters worse, that doe-eyed boy Gabriel had sort of had a soft spot for since they'd met back when he was posing as nothing more than a lowly janitor, well he was suddenly being worn by the bastard who hadn't had enough love left in him to spare his own little brother. Lucifer had no trouble skipping around the earth and ensuring the destruction of everything. And Dean, that selfish prick, he got a case of the dead insides and settled his ass up to Michael to try and fill that hole in his life. Castiel, the charmer that he'd always been, vanished into the wind and Gabriel knew that if he wasn't dead already, he'd soon wish he was. The apocalypse sucked, to put it simply. The earth was reduced to ashes and people sometimes met fates a whole hell of a lot worse than death these days. Michael and Lucifer still had the vanity to think this was Daddy's inevitable plan.

And the younger archangel? He was quite finished with playing scared in the dark. His family was gonna tear themselves to shreds and it all came back to those stupid Winchesters. Well, Gabriel could fix that. It was probably breaking every rule in the book, but it wasn't like they could send any old angel to stop him and it wasn't like Michael could hit him any harder than Lucifer already had. First, however, he'd need a little backup.

Summoning an angel was always messy business and it only got messier when that angel was trying his damnedest to stay hidden. Throw in the fact poor little Castiel was mostly immune to whatever fluke thing Dad had done to make the other angels respect his every word and suddenly you've got something next to impossible to track down.

Gabriel, however, wasn't just any old leather-clad guy. He had tricks up his sleeve a plenty and good knowledge that Castiel at least believed he was fighting for the good guys. When he'd managed to pinpoint the younger angel and snatch him by the short and curlies, Castiel didn't have much choice in going.

“Brother.” Castiel's voice was gruff, still, but it was kind of endearing. Most other angels could rein back enough of their own grace to dispel small differences like that, but Castiel hadn't known about those things when he'd grabbed himself a vessel. Now, he probably had that kind of control, but it was hard for him to admit to the Winchesters that he wasn't exactly Heaven's most experienced. Definitely it's most loved – Or he had been before the apocalypse – but not really the top of the list with human interaction. Gabriel liked the voice. It gave him hope that maybe innocence wasn't entirely lost.

“Hey, Castiel!” Gabriel chirped, skipping over to his younger brother's side and sliding his arm around the other's shoulder. “I don't need to remind you that there's no real way to escape, right? I need you to stick around for a bit and won' have you banging your head against the bars if I can avoid it.”

Irritated at both the fact he was being held against his will and Gabriel's need to remind him, Castiel only gave him a curt nod. Gabriel shrugged and removed his arm from around Castiel's shoulder. In the blink of an eye, he was across the room and taking residency up on a torn up couch, a bright red sucker between his teeth.

“Why have you summoned me here, Gabriel.” Finally, Castiel's curiosity won out. Gabriel wiggled his eyebrows at his younger brothers as if to egg it on before getting into his tale.

“Quite an apocalypse we've got going on out there,” Gabriel noticed, his eyes flashing towards the window. Castiel followed his gaze with a heavy frown at the dark skies and destruction beyond. “No thanks to your little butt buddies. Sam and Dean talked a big game and you really believed them, but when push came to shove, those dicks still ran squealing to Michael and Lucifer. Kinda hurts, doesn't it?”

“If you've brought me here to complain how the Winchesters got you fake killed, I don't care about your box, I will leave.” Castiel's words were sharp and determined. It was evident he didn't want to talk about his failure, but who _really_ did?

“Hold your horses, will ya? If you want to help those sorry SOBs, then you gotta listen up.” Castiel's eyes widened almost comically and he looked to Gabriel for an explanation. That kind of look rarely got turned on him, these days, and he'd be damned if lost puppy-dog eyes were his one weakness. “Michael and Lucifer – Now more than ever – are convinced that no change in the past will alter the inevitable in the future. While that's all fine and nice, I think there might still be a chance. I've got reason to believe taking a fast train down to funkytown and protecting Sam from his own stupid choices will be what we can use to save Dean. After all, the mud monkey wasn't going to say yes with his little bro still walking and talking. I need Sam, but there's gonna be a catch of sorts. Dean's not gonna know what to do with himself. His drive and ambition to protect Sam is what kept him alive so long in the first place, but now things are gonna be different. He's gonna need you, Castiel.”

“What exactly will I need to do?” Gabriel gave a soft smile. Poor guy was always happy to risk his own hide for a good cause.

“You will need to go into witness protection, first of all.” Gabriel stuck his fingers up as he listed off the things, looking vaguely into the middle distance in his thoughts. “I can pull a couple strings, but you're gonna have to ditch Mister Holy Tax Accountant for his younger, even less threatening version. Secondly, the Winchesters can't know that you're an angel – Especially Daddy Winchester. You're there to help them, but that's it. I've got a whole backstory cooked up with a nice _the enemy of my enemy is my friend_ kinda vibe. You're gonna love it. Lastly, you gotta be ready to die for this Castiel. No backing out halfway through. If Michael or Lucifer discover what we're doing, they're gonna smite us to kingdom come. Dealing with me will be a bit of a challenge, but you? You'll be snuffed out with a snap of either of their fingers. Are you sure you're prepared for that?”

Castiel put his shoulders back, as if trying to appear more brave. “I am prepared to make that sacrifice.” Gabriel didn't have to look that far to know he was telling the truth. The determination and Castiel's affection for the Winchester boys was thick enough in the air that Gabriel could taste it. He knew he'd made the right choice in partner in crime.

 


	2. A Fiddle Of Gold Against Your Soul

Sam was still pretty young to really understand exactly what was going on. His dad had told him to sit still, that he was just bait, but something about this whole situation felt off. For starters, Dean had been told to hold down the motel room. Usually, a task like that was left to Sam, since it never required much work, but John Winchester had been adamant about this. Sam at least was smart enough to know that, whatever John Winchester was doing, Dean wouldn't like it.

The elder man had left him to sit quietly in the middle of the barn a while ago, he himself leaning up against a pillar nearby. His dad was barely even thirty, but Sam could already see dark circles under his eyes and wrinkle lines where they shouldn't have set in, yet. The old man was tired from a life Sam had only just touched the surface of. Panic settled in his stomach, knowing that he would eventually face the same fate, and Sam was forced to look away.

As if on cue, Sam heard the tell-tale signs of footsteps approaching them and he instinctively scooted a little closer to his father. The room grew a little colder, as if a ghost had been nearby, but Sam feared it was something far stronger.

“Well, well, well… I was wondering if you'd show up, Mister Winchester.” Even before Sam saw the actual figure emerge from the shadows, the sound of his voice made the hairs on the child's body stand up. Sam could sort of feel the ebb and flow of energy off of the creatures they hunted, just beneath the surface of his skin. He'd mentioned it once to Dean, who'd told him it was just nerves and overtime he'd stop feeling it so much.

“Loki.” The way John said his name, it was like they'd spoken before. “Did you bring it?”

“Sure did!” Considering the other was supposed to be an extremely powerful pagan deity – Granted that he was the same Loki Sam had stumbled across in his various research endeavors – he was giving off a pretty contradictor personality. The bright smile plastered across his face only seemed to add to the youngest Winchester's confusion when Loki suddenly pulled out a gun. “The real, genuine article, Daddy-o! Was a hell of a thing to hunt down, but they weren't lying when she says it was a beauty! My regards to good 'Ole Samuel Colt. And now it can be yours for just one easy payment of short stack over there!”

The nod Loki gave in Sam's direction wasn't exactly threatening, but it still made his blood run cold. For a fraction of a second, it looked like John was actually going to go through with the deal. The gun was passed to his hands and Loki started in Sam's direction, but turning his back on John had been a poor move. A wooden stake was pulled from his jacket pocket and stabbed through the pagan's beating heart.

Both held their breath as his eyes rolled back in his head and he fell to the ground with a loud thud. Only when he finally hit the floor did either Winchester dare breath, again. Sam had the sudden urge to be wrapped up in his father's arms and the other accepted him into them, wordlessly. He didn't cry or get upset, but Sam did hold onto his dad's jacket a little tighter.

“It's alright, Sammy.” John gently patted him on the back, “Calm down, Kiddo.”

After a moment, Sam took a deep breath and released his hold on his father. The two of them headed for the exit of the barn, John tucking the Colt securely in his jacket. Just as Sam was about to step through the large entrance, something grabbed him by the collar and pulled him backwards. The sound of his father calling his name was drowned out by fluttering wings and, suddenly, he wasn't in the barn anymore.

“Dad? Dad!” The boy looked around frantically, only to spot a figure standing nearby. Within seconds, Sam recognized him as the trickster they'd just killed – Loki. Frantic and, quite frankly, terrified, he squirmed as far away from the other as he could get, only stopping once his back hit a wall.

“Woah there, Samsquash. I'm not gonna hurt'cha. Cool your jets.” Loki slowly put up his hands, trying to dispel the obvious worry in Sam's eyes.

“What do you want with me?” Sam asked, slowly rising to his feet while his back was still pressed against the wall. A glance around showed they were in some kind of front sitting room of what looked to be a very nice house. Slightly behind the other was a door and Sam began to calculate how he could escape through it without a weapon or the physical strength to just barge his way through.

“I'm not here to kill you, if that's what you're thinking.” Loki gave him a reassuring smile, trying to come off as nonthreatening as possible. In any other situation, Sam might have believed it, but he _had_ just been kidnapped, so there was little chance of him being _completely_ reassured. Noticing the other not really easing his tensions, Loki sighed and took a few steps back a display of good intent. “This is probably going to sound crazy, Sam, but I'm here to help you.”

“How?” The question was full of accusations and anyone could have easily read the underlying ones with it. _If you're here to help me, how come you had to kidnap me? If you really wanted to help, why'd you have to take me away from my family?_

“It's a long story.” The trickster lowered himself into one of the couches in the room, looking completely relaxed, despite the fact Sam couldn't have been more scared. “To the point, I'm actually not the Trickster. In fact, I'm not even from this timeline. I'm from your future – Well, one of them. The one where you say yes and the Devil rides your sorry ass to prom.”

“Huh?” Despite the fact that Sam knew words were coming out of the other's mouth, he couldn't understand any of them.

“Jeez. Little you is even more dense than all-grown-up you,” Loki muttered, though his tone was still somehow patient and kind. Sam wanted to trust him so bad, but he was a monster and his dad had always warned him about their tricks. “How much do you know about Lucifer, Sammy?”

“You mean Satan?” the boy asked, an eyebrow raised. Loki smiled in encouragement.

“That's the one.”

“Not much. Dad and my brother don't really believe in him.” Sam answered, hesitance apparent in it. “Are _you_ Satan?”

“No, no. Absolutely _not_.” Loki laughed, gently. “I'm way cooler than that bag of dicks. I'm _like_ him, though. I'm an angel. My name is Gabriel.”

“Like the archangel?” Sam's eyes widened in disbelief. Sometimes, back in their own timeline, Gabriel forgot that the Winchester had once been a good little Christian believer, but looking at him now only instilled that fact inside of him. The comparison was almost a sad one, really. How broken did someone have to become before even the smallest little flames called hope inside them were finally snuffed out?

“That's the one!” Loki – Gabriel, Sam had to correct himself – said, his smile widening. “And, just like in the good book, I've come to give you a very special message, Sammy.”

“Really?” Sam eased away from the wall a little, clearly full of wonder. To him, the presence of an archangel was something of a blessing and, if Gabriel wanted to tell him something, it was probably from God, himself. This, Gabriel realized, was going to a lot of complications. He had to play this very carefully to keep Sam from flipping out.

“Yep!” Gabriel patted the couch beside him in invitation. At this, Sam narrowed his eyes, skeptically.

“Prove it.” Sam demanded. As much as Sam wanted to believe that he was talking to an archangel, he knew better than to just go along with any old trick in the book. If this was just some pagan god – Or maybe something worse – trying to play games with his mind, then Sam would be walking right into a trap.

“How would you like me to do that?” Gabriel inquired. He should have expected something like this. After all, Sam wasn't exactly trusting, even at this young age. He'd seen too much, already for that.

“Angels have wings.” Sam stated, firmly. Gabriel nodded in confirmation. “Well, if you're _really_ an angel, how come you don't have any?”

The question was innocent enough and, thankfully, one Gabriel actually had an answer for. “Because this isn't actually my true form. My real appearance would cause too much damage on this plane, so I happen to be inhabiting a vessel.”

“You're possessing some guy?” Sam stared at him, astonished.

“Not at all.” Gabriel frowned, as if personally offended by the accusation. “This man was a very devout follower. He gave me permission to use his body for my heavenly tasks.” Granted, the man had been a devout follower of Norse paganismas opposed to Christianity, but Sam didn't need to know that. “If it will help you believe me, I can still manifest my wings, though. At least, somewhat.” Sam nodded in confirmation and Gabriel closed his eyes to concentrate on willing his wings into the mortal plane. After much coaxing of his grace, their weight finally settled against his back and he rolled his shoulders in an attempt to get used to the unusual sensation. Cracking open his eyes, he caught sight of Sam, his whole face lit up in awe.

“Woah.” The boy finally said, taking a few steps towards him. His hand started to raised, but it didn't get very out of hesitance.

“You may touch them,” Gabriel allowed, his expression soft and, though he'd never admit it, affectionate. The elder Winchester had always been somewhat of a wonder to look at – Not completely unlike the angel he was meant to possess – but that beauty paired with childlike innocence was simply too much for anyone to not be affected by it.

Sam didn't need to be told twice, moving the distance across the room and kneeling on the couch to be as close to them as possible. Considering they looked shiny like gold-alloys that made up much of sparkling jewelry, it must have come as quite a surprise to the boy when they felt softer than cotton and held a smoothness that put silk to shame. They were massive, taking up so much space that they had to be folded slightly to fit into the room, and gave off their own soft glow. Sam ran his fingers over the them, his brow furrowing in concern.

“You're molting.” His fingers brushed briefly over the spots of missing feathers in Gabriel's wings. The archangel looked down at the boy, impressed.

“How old did you say you were?”

“Nine.” Sam answered, moving a little closer to the wing to inspect it. “A teacher told me once that, if a bird's missing certain feathers, that means they're molting. Do angels have a molting season like birds do?”

“Generally? No. In Heaven, we're creatures of pure energy and the only time our wings lose their shape is if they've been damaged.” Gabriel answered the boy's inquiry. “When we take vessels, our wings often have growing properties similar to that of skin, in which they grow new feathers and lose old ones at a rate nearly equal to one another, after which the feathers dissolve in the ether. In truth, these are not even my real wings, but a projection of them, so you wouldn't see the feathers fall out as they are growing.”

“The teacher said a bird can also start molting if they were hurt.” Sam turned sad eyes on Gabriel, as if coming to the conclusion that the archangel must have suffered a lot of pain. The archangel's smile reflected that same sadness.

“That is also true in an angel.” Gabriel's words spoke to his unasked question.

“What happened to you?”

Gabriel sighed, closing his eyes at the painful memory. Faking his death had caused a hell of a lot more power than he had wanted it to, but that was the thing about those kinds of spells. In order to comfortably fain death, one had to practically be there already. His time since then had healed most wounds, but his wings had been a lesser worry than everything else in the past few days. “My brother happened to me, but there's no reason to worry, Sam. They do not hurt and they will heal with time.”

“Your brother?” Sam, ever curious, picked up on that information – Just like Gabriel hoped he would. Folding his wings slightly and wrapping the young Sam in their warm embrace like it was a comfortable blanket, his expression grew serious.

“Do you remember how I asked you about Lucifer?”


	3. The Young Avengers

Dean was fairly certain he'd never been more furious with his father in his entire life. The man had come back to the motel without their youngest family member, practically frantic with worry. Dean had barely managed to get a full story out of the man.

As much as he blamed his father, though, that was no comparison to the blame he forced upon himself. Watching out for Sam had always been _his_ responsibility and he'd messed up. He'd messed up so badly that, now, Sam was gone. For all they knew, he might be dead. The kind of torture he inflicted on himself was too much for any twelve year old to have to deal with.

After trying every damn thing he could think of John had eventually insisted they pack up and head out. With a heavy heart and a complete lack of direction, Dean had obediently packed up his and Sam's things, loading them into the Impala and climbing into the backseat. Without the presence of Sam there, falling asleep against his shoulder, the car ride turned into his own tiny hell.

Somehow he'd managed to doze off and, when he felt something shaking his shoulder, he blinked his eyes open to see that the sun was just starting to rise and they were at Bobby's. He'd gathered his and Sam's things and been led to the front door, where Bobby took one look at him before saying Dean should head on upstairs to claim a bedroom. Not quite feeling whole enough to argue, Dean did as he was told.

From upstairs, he could easily hear the sound of John and Bobby fighting, the noise loud enough to flit through the floorboards. Sam's name was tossed around a few times and Dean found himself melting into a pathetic mess on the bedroom floor. Even after the yelling had died down and the sound of the front door reached him, followed by the car engine, Bobby never came to fetch him. Considering the state he found himself in, Dean was grateful for that.

John didn't come back for a long time, after that. A few months went by and Dean managed to convince Bobby to let him go on a few hunts by himself, nearby. The feeling of having something sharp in his hand and using it to take out evil helped him get along easier, but he never really gave up on Sam.

It was on one of these hunts that the most extraordinary thing happened. He'd been thinking it was just a single vampire at first, but it had eventually morphed into a whole nest. The responsible thing would have been to call Bobby and have him send a more experienced hunter, but Dean wasn't responsible and he really didn't care. The life was going to get him eventually and, without his baby brother or even his dad these days, there wasn't much to keep fight for. So Dean went ahead and ran into a nest by himself, fully prepared for it to go either way.

The vampires had been faster than him, stronger than him and, to be fair, far more experienced. Some of them had been bloodsuckers longer than he'd been human and they weren't exactly an ancient nest. Dean had found himself pinned up against a wall, his weapons far out of reach and a vamp snapping his teeth at the boy. He was about ready to become monster mash-potatoes when suddenly a bright light had him turning his head away and closing his eyes, lest he be blinded. When the light faded, he opened his eyes to see the dead husk of what had previously been a vicious vampire – Now complete with his eyes seared out. Pushing the body off of himself, Dean noticed another boy standing nearby, the other three vampires that had been left all laying in similar states as the first. The boy looked to him with ancient eyes and Dean was on edge, immediately.

“What the hell was that?” The Winchester questioned, spotting his machete off to one side and slowly moving towards it.

“They will no longer cause you problems.” The boy answered, his gaze unwavering. The intensity of it sent mixed emotions through Dean, none of which he could properly label.

“Yeah. I get that. How the hell'd you do that?” The knife was closer now and it wasn't exactly a mystery as to what he was going for, but the other didn't seem even the slightest bit affected by it.

The other boy tilted his head, slightly. He wasn't exactly the most threatening looking kid, if Dean was being perfectly honest. He sported a tan vest over a white button-up and a blue tie that was done backwards. The pants were snuggly-fit black jeans. His hair, a black color, stood up in every direction as if he didn't know how to use a hairbrush. The most stunning part of the man was the pale blue eyes, which pierced into his very soul as he stared at them. Somehow those eyes could look old, even when they were just from some kid. “It is simply a trick I was created with the knowledge of. That is not of import. I have come looking for someone named Dean Winchester.”

“Yeah, well, you found him.” Dean smirked in an obvious tough-guy way. The first thing John had taught him about dealing with evil was to never let them know you were scared. That was when they knew they'd won. “What can I help you with, Sweetheart?”

“I've been searching for you, Dean. Rumor is that you and I can help one another.” The boy moved forward cautiously, not wanting to startled the other. “Several months ago, I came across news that a man I seek revenge against took capture of a child. After some digging, I managed to stumble across a name, Sam Winchester. I believe you are his brother, yes?”

Just like that, Dean was frozen in his place, eyes narrowing on the kid standing before him. “My baby brother is dead.”

“I've got reason to believe otherwise.” Dean really didn't know how to respond to the determined look painted across the other. At least, not when he had been made to believe the opposite of what this other person said. “The man who took him, Loki, is a cruel and merciless man, but he wanted your brother for a purpose. I have yet to discover what he is doing with him, exactly, but I know for certain that he is alive. I do not, however, know where he is.”

“Oh, and you think I do?” Dean's jaw clenched as a million and one things Sam could possibly be suffering through spun around his head. Each one was more upsetting than the last.

“At the moment, no. If you did, you would be there, not here hunting...” The other looked down at the dead bodies, remembering what exactly he'd been up against. “Vampires. I do know, however, that your father is currently on a search for him and will eventually return with news about him. I am here to request that you let me stay with you until that time comes.”

“Oh yeah? And why should I do that?” As soon as Dean asked the question, Castiel pulled a dagger into view.

“This,” he explained, either oblivious to or purposefully ignoring Dean's sudden alarm at the sight of it. “Is a weapon forged for me by the same dwarf who created Thor's hammer. It has special properties that will kill nearly anything, however it is nothing more than a regular dagger in the hands of anyone besides myself. I mean to kill Loki with it, once you and your father have found him.”

“That seems like a load of crap to me.” Dean stated, frowning as the other held out the handle of the blade to him.

“If you don't believe me, you may try the blade on me. It will not cause me any ill effects, I assure you.” Dean hesitantly stepped forward, coming in close enough to touch the handle of the dagger and quickly turned it on the other, finding himself standing suddenly very close to a creature that was definitely not dead. He pulled the dagger from his chest and wiped it on his pant before returning it to its proper hiding place.

“Who the hell are you?” Dean was breathing deeply through his nose, too tough to back away from the close proximity now that he was there. The other stuck his head up a little higher, clearly demanding respect with his pose, alone.

“My name is Wicca,” he replied, simply. “And Loki is my father.”

“Loki's your _Dad_?” Dean gasped, horrified. If he'd known that, would have stabbed the bastard a lot sooner.

“Yes, though we are not exactly _friends_.” The bitterness in his tone seemed to help convince Dean of how truthful he was being, “He traded me to a witch when I was very young, abandoning me. She was a cruel woman and I grew to resent my father because of it. Eventually, I managed to escape by killing her and have been looking for him ever since.”

“To kill him, too?” Dean questioned, a little skeptical.

“He made my life as horrid as my sister's domain.” Wicca answered, looking away from Dean. “I have much more allegiance to you humans than to my own kind. I met a man once, that took very good care of me, but eventually my brothers took him from me as well. I am bitter towards most of them, but I am willing to trust you.”

“That's probably a stupid idea,” Dean warned. Wicca turned to him, just the smallest hint of a smile on his face.

“I know.”

Somehow, the two came to an agreement of inviting Wicca on hunts, granted that Dean could hold onto the knife. Dean returned to Bobby's and set to work on updating the man on what had happened. They spent the next few days digging up what they could find on the stranger.

“You think he can really help us get Sam back, Bobby?” Dean wondered, looking to the older man.

“You just keep your eye on him, Boy,” Bobby warned.


End file.
